Pages Come Alive
by Kylie Max
Summary: Arthur Kirkland the author has grown sick of his most famous character: Francis Bonnefoy. It seems with each new installment of Arthur's best-selling series starring Francis, the public only clamors for more-and they're dying to read the next book! Which is great, because Arthur just finished it by killing off the beloved Francis… but then who should show up but Francis himself!
1. Chapter 1

This is a response to a kinkmeme request. I'll post the link later on my profile if any of you are interested to see the original prompt and also the link to my livejournal profile (which I have yet to create). Uh... let me know what you think of this. I'm not done yet (obviously) and I have no idea how this will end but... We'll find out! :D

Also, sorry about weird ratings. I had no idea how to categorize this so... yeah. Rating might go up but for now it's in the K-T range.

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><p>Arthur Kirkland was alone.<p>

He lived alone in a small cottage just outside the city and the suburbs, far enough away from civilization but close enough to run into town for weekly errands or emergencies. He was content though. He didn't have to listen to the honking cars or walk on cold, hard streets. He'd done that before and hadn't gotten a good night's rest for the few months he actually lived in the city.

He made his living on his books, none of them terribly popular or world-famous, but enough to please the readers he entertained. He'd saved money from his government job that he maintained while living in the city. Money wasn't too much of an issue.

He didn't have neighbors but he did have a small tabby cat who kept him company, curled on his lap during the cold winters and sleeping close when Arthur was working.

Arthur had up and down days. Some days he'd be active and productive, doing housework, talking to his editor, writing a few chapters on his latest novel. Other days, his body and mind seemed to slow him down. Sometimes he didn't want to get out of bed or even wake up. His dreams were of happier times but he knew they were gone.

Never less, on down days, he'd schedule a visit with a friend or make something special. Sometimes he'd have tea with the closest neighbor he had or he'd wait for the post and chat with the mail man for a while, talking until the mail man had to move on or go home.

Sometimes Arthur did wish to have more friends or a companion. Sometimes, he wanted to spend hours and days with someone, debating, talking and being together but he'd tried making friends before, nearly stressing himself out. Often times he'd give up and convince himself that living the way he did was best and he didn't need someone.

It was one particularly sunny day when he went into town and he was riding on the train to the afternoon market. He shifted uncomfortably, wedged between two men with briefcases and work clothes on the train. As the train stopped at the first few stations on the outskirts of the city, more and more people came onto the train. Arthur frowned and tried to make room for those who needed to sit down. People fanned themselves on the train, unused to the sun showing and warming the air considerably. He tugged at his collar uncomfortably and shifted his satchel on his shoulder.

He felt a cool rush of air from the train station when it arrived at the main station, the doors sliding open with a muted screech. Arthur squeezed past everyone, glad to have escaped the sardine can of a car and sighed, frowning slightly at the hustle and bustle of the station. He walked the stairs to street level and blinked a few times in the afternoon sun. He sighed and headed off to the market, keeping a hand on his satchel's strap.

He hurried along the sidewalk, jumping a few times when a driver honked but tried to enjoy the city again. The city was basking in the sun, windows thrown open, clothes hung on lines and fans turned on high. It was very unusual of the weather but the people loved it. It was so wet and dreary sometimes; people just wore rain jackets and carried umbrellas wherever they went.

Needless to say though, Arthur grumbled about having to worry about his butter and milk.

When he got to the market, Arthur sighed, his mood lifting. Vendors called out to the people wandering the aisles, offering deals and sales. People shuffled through the rows, carrying bags of organic groceries and other artisan products.

Arthur made a beeline for the organic made tea stand ran by a retired old couple and smiled at them.

"Hello," he called out to them. The old woman's cheeks rose as her kind smile widened. She tapped her husband's shoulder and held out her arms to him.

Usually, Arthur was not one for hugs but he liked the old couple and felt welcome in her arms. She was warm and plump, her clothes smelling of spice and baking. She patted his cheek after releasing him and smiled at him.

"Hello, Arthur!" She held him at arm's length, looking him up and down. "How have you been? How is your health? Have you been eating properly?" She looked him over like a mother looking over her child before dinner.

"I am well," he said smiling. The woman's husband nodded to Arthur and tended to the stall, letting his wife have the freedom to talk. He knew Arthur's significance to her. "It's quite a warm day, isn't it?" I could smell the tea down the street."

"Oh, indeed..." She tittered. "That's what the regulars say too. Even Mr. Thompson said he was able to smell the stall from his home!" Arthur smiled knowingly. Mr. Thompson was old and blind but he had impeccable ears and a comparable nose. He could smell what you'd had for lunch from across the room and could hear a fly buzzing against a window in the next room over.

"So, did you come for our special today?" the woman asked kindly. "Most people don't want a hot drink right now, but we've got select tea leaves on sale and ice tea drinks."

"Iced tea? How very American..." Arthur mused. Though a cool swig of ice tea did smell good... "What tea leaves are on sale?"

"We can always count on you, Arthur," the man said over his shoulder. "Even if no one else comes to our stand, we'll always have you." He smiled and went back to serving the customers. The woman showed Arthur the packaged tea bags and pointed out the best tasting and the ones that were the 'hidden gems'.

All was fine until the next question came.

"So how is that next book going?" The woman asked softly, smiling at him. "I very much enjoyed the books so far. Are you continuing the series?" Arthur nearly choked and blinked a few times, looking at her, perplexed.

Not many people knew who Arthur was, but actually, Arthur was quite the author, one who had captured the hearts of readers across the UK. His novels were something of a surprise, selling out quickly. Naturally Arthur wrote under a different name but that hadn't stopped the tea stand owner's wife. Although his books were not for any particular audience, many people enjoyed them, many begging for the next novel as soon as the preceding one had been finished. For now, Arthur was happy in his small cottage, letting his PO Box fill up without his supervision.

"I... I'll see what I can come up with..." he said weakly. The woman nodded eagerly and then patted his shoulder.

"I can't wait," she said and Arthur nodded, smiling slightly and sighed, bidding them farewell after buying a few packs of tea. Arthur walked through the rest of the market, stopping occasionally at different stalls, but he was now distracted, his mind turning to his book.

His books were a horror series that quickly gained popularity around Arthur's thirty-second birthday. When Arthur got the letter from his editor about his sales around the entire island nations, Arthur quickly moved to the country, dropping his job, trying to hide. Somehow though, people got his address but fortunately, no one showed up at his house. Arthur used to read the letters of adoration but eventually, with each new release, the letters would increase exponentially and Arthur would read only those that seemed to stand out to him.

What seemed to captivate the readers was not Arthur's antagonist, the darkness influencing the darkness within, but it was Arthur's main character Francis. Francis, a French news reporter investigating a recent murder on a slow news day, had been thrown into an inescapable game with a serial killer who slowly drew Francis to madness.

The reporter had a totally of three encounters with the serial killer, witnessing the death of six victims, and countless of injuries of innocent lives, all of them bloody and yet, somehow compelling to the Frenchman. He had become accustomed to the sight of blood now, if not almost pleasant, but the killer had recently taken it too far, with Francis waking up with his wife's throat slip, his hands covered in her blood and clutching the knife that'd ended his wife.

And that's where Arthur had left his last book. And where Arthur began Francis's end.

When Arthur made it home with his groceries, he set them down on the kitchen counter and sighed. His kitchen table was almost completely covered with stacks of letters from a recent trip from the post office. A soft yellow lamp sat on the table by the recliner and Arthur turned it on, illuminating his falls filled with so many books, there were books on top of the upright books, tucked into any available space on the shelves.

A middle-aged tabby shifted and blinked from the recliner's seat, looking at Arthur with large green orbs. The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched and he walked over to run his fingers through the animal's fur, murmuring words of affection for the feline.

He walked back to the kitchen, unpacking his groceries and putting them away. He tucked his cloth bags under the sink and sighed, wiping his hands on his pants, looking around.

Arthur's eyes landed on the stacks of mail and sighed again, pulling out a chair and sitting down, sinking slightly into the patterned cushion. His cat came over shortly after to sit in the area just to Arthur's left arm as he pulled a pack of letters towards him. The letters were tied together with string and Arthur pulled at the knot at the top. The letters tipped and spilled but were controlled by Arthur's quick hands. The majority of them were white or manila but he occasionally got colored envelopes. Some had been sealed with wax, some had stickers but most were licked shut. None of them were particularly eye catching or extraordinary.

Arthur picked up his mail knife and slid the tip under a random letter, pulling upwards. He slid the letter out and unfolded it.

_Dear Mr. Harris,_

_Arthur paused before continuing. Sometimes he had to remember his public name was different from his real name._

_I am writing to tell you how much I adore your series! You're a great author! My friends love you too! We used The Knife as our book club book this month and everyone loved it! There's a girl in our club who usually has scathing comments about each book but she didn't this time! I can't wait for the next book! Will Francis be okay? Anyway, you're my favorite author and I'm sure you get toooooooooons of mail but thanks for reading this!_

_From your biggest fan,_

_Ellie, 15_

_Glasgow._

Arthur chuckled a bit and set the letter aside. He liked his younger readers, though sometimes he questioned the parents allowing their children to read some of his less than happy/appropriate books. Arthur opened a second letter.

_Mr. Harris,_

_Words cannot describe how disappointed I am. As a human being, I demand of you to rewrite or change the plot of your books. They are unrealistic and sadistic. I can't imagine others reading such-_

Arthur put down the letter. He'd certainly get more of those later. He started a new pile away from the previous pile.

_Hi Mr. Harris,_

_Thank you for writing such wonderful books! I enjoyed every one of them. You're my favorite author. My English professor and I talked for an hour after class over your books, especially about The Panther. I think my favorite would be The Blood though. The way Francis still resists Mr. O'Connell's games but is still tempted is so…_

Arthur sat in his kitchen quietly. Letters were strewn about him, no longer in neat piles but in scattered clusters. His cat sat idly next to him, purring when her owner scratched her head and behind her ears.

_Enough of this,_ Arthur thought. _Time to get to work._

Arthur stood and put the kettle on for tea, preparing a tea-cup with a bit of cream. The stove clicked to life, blue flames spurting out against the brass kettle. Arthur walked back to his bedroom, pulling out his laptop and opening it. Arthur opened the top and logged in, setting the computer on his table.

100% battery.

12:27 AM.

19,462 words to go.

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><p>Let me know of any spelling or grammar issues please.<p>

Reviews are love :)


	2. Chapter 2

Super long chapter guys, but I got it done. I'm going to go pass out now because it's 1 AM and I have to get up in 4 hours for school... *dies* Enjoy! I don't know when the next chapter will be posted...

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><p>"You're done?" Kiku asked in surprise, his voice lightening with the news. "That's great! Is it in the mail now?"<p>

"I'm not sending it through the post," Arthur replied, rubbing his eyes. He yawned and reached for his tea, only to find it cold. Arthur stood and staggered to the kitchen again, turning the stove back on to reheat the kettle. Arthur got more leaves out and another tea cup out.

There was a pause on the other end. "Are you paying me a visit?" Kiku asked.

"Mmhm," Arthur hit the print button and looked at his waking printer. It wined but the pages came out, covered in ink.

"Is it that important?" Kiku asked. He sounded worried.

"It is." Arthur said. "It's the end." Arthur could hear the chair scrape back through the phone speaker.

"What do you mean 'it's the end'?" Kiku paused. "The end of your series?"

Arthur replied with a tired 'yes'.

"Oh." Kiku paused again, taking time to process. "Your fans will be disappointed."

"I know," Arthur said. "But Francis needs to end." Arthur heard voices talking to Kiku and Kiku held the phone away from his mouth. Arthur listened but couldn't make anything out.

"I've got to go, Arthur," Kiku said. "I will talk to you later."

Arthur sighed and set the phone down. Kiku, while quite considerate and polite, could get riled up if his main profit avenue was closing. Though it wasn't as if Arthur was being forced against his will to write and it wasn't as if Arthur would stop writing, but Arthur was sick of hearing all about Francis.

Francis.

Portrayed as analytical, proud, and handsome, Francis had caught the attention of most women. Being French also left some to the imagination as the foreign nature of the man was exotic and exciting. Personally, Arthur couldn't stand the French and scoffed at their accents and culture. But somehow, he'd made his main character French.

Francis's end would be a relief.

Half way through Arthur's second book, _The Panther_, he'd tested the waters with the possibility of Francis's death but had resurrected him before the next chapter. He'd read numerous letters that had commented on those chapters specifically, expressing concern, relief and excitement. 'Most authors don't scare the audience like that!' many had said. 'We were so scared for him!'

_He's just a character. Just words on the page,_ Arthur would always say in response, not like the readers could hear him though.

Arthur stared at his old fashioned phone. It was an old Paramount rotary desk phone that he'd had in his family since his grandfather's time. He thought about how his relatives had used this phone previously as well and how he remembered what a pain it was to connect the phone so he could get calls in and out of his house.

Previously, Arthur had thought of not even getting a phone, cable, and internet connection but he soon found that others needed to communicate with him quicker than 'snail mail' and that having internet allowed him to type and search quicker since type writer ink was so expensive and hard to come by nowadays. He didn't like so much of his budget being portioned out just for the sake of writing. Pens and paper weren't so expensive but then someone had to be hired- no, _paid_ (because god forbid a job being created out of necessity)- to type up the entirety of the book.

Kiku Honda, Arthur's editor, had almost forced him to set up an email though. Arthur had finally obliged but had refused to check it religiously, deciding to post his PO box to make up for abstaining to post the email address online.

Kiku had also put a hit counter onto the author website and was amazed counter shot up past the first few millions.

Arthur himself had checked out the site, clicking on and reading every page. Occasionally, he scoffed as the truth was stretched but was overall pleased with what could be read on Arthur.

Kiku insisted on interviews and other marketing elements to be on the site to promote Arthur and his books further. Arthur had agreed to them but felt a bit... used for portraying himself for the public to know and not to know at the same time.

Kiku was the driving force of Arthur's publishing and also was the one who discovered Arthur's writing abilities. As an old friend and business partner though, Kiku could be firm and forceful when he needed to be, a value Arthur truly appreciated.

Even though that meant attempts to convince the English author to continue to write for Francis's series were going to be harder to resist.

Arthur sighed and walked back to his room, unbuttoning his clothes from the previous day. He'd fallen asleep on his couch in his clothes, too tired to care to change after spending the majority of the night finishing his final novel.

After a quick shower, Arthur dressed and checked the weather. It was late afternoon and Arthur felt as if he was behind. Sleeping in late was never part of his schedule but the sun was already high in the sky, hidden behind the clouds, when he awoke. Arthur tutted when he glanced at the clock again and grabbed his house keys. He pulled on a rain jacket (the forecast was bad today) and walked out the front door, locking it behind him. He started walking to the small, remote train station and bought himself a ticket.

As he waited for the train, he glanced around the familiar station. The station was almost always empty, the occasional visitors marveled at how 'cute' and 'quaint' it was. Residents rarely met each other on the train. Arthur always liked the station because it served its purpose perfectly with nothing extra. There were no coffee shops or photo booths and everyone arrived and departed on time. Arthur was not a fan of most modern escapes.

Then the train rattled up and the doors slid open. Arthur stepped on and found a seat. There was only one other rider in the train car but Arthur didn't look at him. He kept to himself as well and the two rode in silence. Arthur daydreamed about other possible plots for future books, and then about an idea partner.

When the train stopped at the main station, Arthur stood and filed out, ready for fresh air again. He walked down the street, not worried at all about the distance between the train station and his destination.

All in all, Arthur was content.

Kiku turned around to face Arthur, holding up a finger before Arthur could speak.

"Mmhm. Yes. No! Tell them no. Well we have to make deadline. No, I didn't set the deadline, my boss did. No, I can't extend it." Kiku paused. "I know. I'll talk to him." He nodded and then hung up his phone, setting it on the desk and sighing. Kiku looked at Arthur and sighed again.

"… Everything alright?" Arthur asked. Kiku was Arthur's friend before his editor. He was short, Japanese, and very straight laced. His almond brown eyes missed nothing and he was Arthur's first fan. They had met during a house exchange program and had met in the airport. Arthur spent a week in Japan in Kiku's house while Kiku spent a little over a week and a half in England in Arthur's house. The last half they spent together, getting to know each other better.

They were both awkward and yet forceful and deliberate. Kiku was passive while Arthur was aggressive (but only when necessary, as Arthur said). Their half-week was spent quietly sipping teas and trading poetry, teaching each other their cultures and bonding. Arthur was the one who'd trusted Kiku with his rough draft first.

Their business relationship was as good as their normal friendship.

"Things are fine. Other authors are not as... punctual as you." Kiku smiled slightly and organized a few paper stacks on his desk. "You didn't have to come to the offices... I could've paid a visit after work."

Arthur shrugged. "I had to get out. My house is... feeling empty and it's dreadfully lonely..."

"Ah..." Kiku said, understanding. Sometimes Kiku didn't like his house either because he claimed ghosts walked the hallways and kept him up at night. From what Kiku told him, Kiku used to be a young hermit, afraid to go outside and shut everyone out until one of Kiku's friends had literally pulled him out of his house and showed him all the wonderful things the world had to offer. Arthur had laughed a the time but in truth, he wished someone had done that for him too.

"You said you finished?" Kiku asked. He looked at Arthur who nodded and pulled the stuffed manila envelope.

"My series is ending." Arthur said, looking at Kiku very seriously.

"Alright..." Kiku said. He wasn't as happy as he was the first time Arthur's manuscript was finished. "I'll read it and edit it soon." He held out his hand and Arthur placed the packet in his hand. Kiku immediately slid the bounded pages out and flipped past the cover page and began to scan the first paragraph, the first page and then the first chapter.

"Sounds good so far." Kiku nodded. "I can't wait to read the rest." He smiled supportively and set the folder aside. Then he crossed his fingers and fell silent, looking at Arthur. "How have you been?"

Arthur smiled slightly. He was talking to his friend now.

"I am well. Getting the book done was... refreshing." He nodded and sighed in content. Francis would be gone now. However much people complained, he'd be done with him. No looking back.

"Ah, that's good," Kiku said. He paused then. "Would you like to get a bite to eat later? Work ends at five today."

"I would love to. Shall we go to the café on A400 and Ducannon Street? It's been a while since we've been there..."

"The National?" Kiku paused. "It will be nice to go there again..." He smiled and looked at the clock. "I shall see you there at... five thirty?."

Arthur nodded and then bid his friend good-bye, leaving the offices. Once again, he walked the streets alone but content.

_Maybe I'll go shopping for a bit?_ He mused to himself, looking for something to keep him busy for two hours. _The cat also needs some new toys, I think... _

The pet store wasn't but two blocks away and was filled with everything imaginable for pets ranging from aisles of leashes and harnesses to treat toys to keep pets entertained. Occasionally, Arthur heard a squeaky toy's harsh squeal from across the store but Arthur didn't mind. Keeping the fact he'd have to carry the purchases around afterwards in mind, Arthur did not buy the bag of cat food on sale but bought a packet of cat nip and a new ball with a bell inside. His cat, Elizabeth, was getting old and didn't play much but would enjoy an engaging toy to amuse her once in a while. He browed for a good while to kill time but eventually went to pay. The cashier was nice but curt and Arthur moved on to his next destination.

The bell rang when Arthur exited the store and Arthur stepped onto the street, glancing around. He figured he could take a nice walk in the Leicester Square Garden even if the weather had retired to its usual grey state.

He started the short walk, occasionally glancing at other people and nodding politely but didn't say anything. He commented mentally on the cars whizzing by but did not long for one to cut his walk short. The shops were open and inviting but Arthur wanted to stay outside, weather permitting. Arthur was still content.

Then his mobile rung.

He slid the rectangle out of his coat pocket, caller ID letting him know who it was.

"Are you sure you want to end the series, Arthur-san?"

Arthur sighed. Kiku had read it. Or at least glanced at chapter twenty-two.

"I am positive." Arthur said firmly. Kiku was silent for a while. Arthur had stopped walking.

"You know people will not be pleased?"

"I am sure." Another pause.

"Good luck. I will see you in forty-five minutes." Kiku hung up. Arthur continued to walk.

When he reached the park, he walked its perimeter for a while. Kiku did not sound mad (hardly anything made him mad) but he didn't sound pleased.

_If my editor isn't pleased, what are the readers going to think?_ Arthur wondered. _Will I ever sell another book?_ Arthur knew of plenty authors and people who'd had... media that had displeased their audience and he knew they hadn't had trouble with finances or reputation afterwards. Some had even become more popular with the discontinuation of their forms of expression. Arthur couldn't think of anyone at the moment, but he was sure there were some like that.

An hour soon passed and Arthur was going to be late to his dinner with Kiku. He walked quickly down the street but his thoughts were still tumbling around in his mind, worrying him and making him unintentionally stress himself. This was his series! He could do whatever he wanted with his characters!

Kiku was already sitting at a small table when Arthur walked in. Immediately, Arthur walked over after Kiku had spotted him and sat down, forcing himself to relax.

"I skimmed the chapters, Arthur-san," Kiku said after they'd ordered their dinners. Rice and roasted veggies for Kiku and fish n' chips for Art Arthur. "Wonderful writing as usual, except..." Kiku pulled the manuscript out and turned to the page with a blood red bookmark.

"I know," Arthur said. He had prepared for Kiku's criticisms. "I wanted him dead." Arthur was solid and would not change his mind.

"Arthur-san..." Kiku set the draft down and folded his fingers together again. He looked very calm and professional. "You don't make enough to stop writing. Your series, however good, is not enough for you to live off of..."

"I know. I won't stop writing. I just won't write with Francis anymore," Arthur nodded earnestly.

"But how do you know your next book or series will be enough? You might get some buzz from writing this series but if you end the series now, how do you know you can produce something equally as good but different?"

"I am a writer, Kiku." Arthur said, meeting the man's deep brown eyes. "Writing is a part of my life."

"But selling is just as important," Kiku countered, sitting back in his chair. He sighed but then smiled slightly. "I have faith in you, but I do not wish to see you regret your decisions."

"I won't," Arthur nodded and rubbed his cin. "I'm already developing another plot now." He said confidently as he lied through his teeth.

"Good. Let me know when you need an editor," Kiku smiled slightly.

Their food arrived then and they ate talking quietly among themselves about trivial things, enjoying the dinner together. Arthur was invited to travel with Kiku to stay in Japan for the summer and Arthur told him that he'd think about it. They talked of past novels and other authors, commenting on books previously read and listing recommendations of other literature. Arthur promised to read a Japanese manga called Shingeki no Kyojin where the plot and characters had some parallels to Arthur's series and Francis. Kiku had copies at his house and would lend the series to Arthur the next time they saw each other.

At eight o'clock, the two parted ways, and Arthur headed for home. The train ride home seemed different though. Arthur was not content.

He was lonely.

Nothing Elizabeth won't fix, Arthur thought as he imagined her twitching ears. She'll like her new toys.

Arthur watched his country whizz by the windows, blurring and melting together. Soon, the train emptied and he was one of five patrons still riding.

Something was unsetting Arthur.

He walked home alone, the vast countryside spreading itself for him. His house looked small on its small dirt road form the station, his white mailbox seeming to beckon him. Arthur walked past it though, he never checked the box, his mail was always slid through the mail slot in his door. The post man knew that.

Arthur unlocked the door and Elizabeth was waiting for him, waiting in her cat bed for him to come home. She mewled sleepily and Arthur patted her head, hanging his coat on the rack. He unpacked the cat toys and cat nip, tossing the musical, scented ball towards Elizabeth who sniffed it and batted at it a bit. Arthur got ready for a relaxing evening alone by prepping a pot of tea. He decided to actually try and brainstorm a few ideas. Kiku would be reading his novel now and making marks where spell check had missed errors.

The sunset beautifully that night, but Arthur did not see it. He had fallen asleep in his chair, his cat warming his lap and his tea cooling on the side table. An abandoned pad of paper and a pen had scattered at Arthur's feet having slipped from the author's grasp. The house was silent.

Arthur woke at exactly four in the morning. He woke slowly, sluggishly remembering where everything was and what had happened. His house was dark except the side table's yellow lamp. Arthur ran a hand through Elizabeth's soft fur, thinking groggily to himself.

_I never got the mail__,_ Arthur realized. He slowly moved Elizabeth off his lap, setting her on her bed, barely waking her. She was a heavy sleeper usually.

Arthur stood, grabbed a robe and stumbled out to his mail box. He didn't remember the mail had already been reviewed when he came home but he opened the mail box anyway.

Inside was a pale blue envelope, roughly the size of a standard birthday card. It was sealed with dark red wax with the imprint of a rose in it.

_Mr. Arthur Kirkland_, it said on the front in carefully, but elegantly, looped cursive.

Arthur retreated into his small house and stared at the envelope in wonder. He never got mail in his mail box, let alone so beautifully addressed to him. Only bills and other business matters had his real name on the envelopes, and they were always harsh, typed font.

Arthur used his letter opener to pry the flap open, his fingers running over the smooth paper.

Inside was a short letter in the same looped handwriting. Arthur's heart thumped wildly in his chest, his eyes widening.

_Bonjour, _

_My name is Francis Bonnefoy. _

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><p>Reviews are love and equal faster updates.<p>

Btw, I didn't mean to make it Attack on Titan, and the development of the PCA plot honestly had nothing to do with the AOT plot, I was just like "hey, I like AoT and somehow, the PCA plot is similar... Let's throw in a reference! Woo!"


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